A/N: Nothing to say but Enjoy. It'll be at least a couple of weeks before I have the next chapter ready, though.

PhantomFan01: All will make sense in due course . . .

Sorelli gazed across the table at her friend. It was clear from her expression, from the cloudiness in her eyes, that whoever she was thinking of had broken her heart and it still hurt too much to talk about.

Mignon sighed shakily and wiped her eyes. "I don't like to dwell on the past, Sorelli," she stated, lifting her eyes to the other woman. "I would rather focus on the here and now and what actually is than wonder what might have been had things been slightly different."

"That is a good way to live life," Sorelli agreed.

Erik had many tasks to complete that day, and knowing Christine would be occupied for most of it let him worry less about her. There was the matter of telling the managers what needed to be done, who should be cast in which roles. 'Ugh, those men have no ear for music, much less voices,' he thought derisively as he wrote his letters. 'These men have no business running an opera house. They are lucky to have me to help them do their job properly.'

Then he had to meet with the Fourniers so he could pick up his suits and the new dresses he'd ordered for Christine. He'd asked Mme. Fournier to choose the styles as she had an eye for colour and Erik admired her taste. He only hoped that there was at least one pink dress in the mix; he'd seen Christine wear pink as part of her costumes when she rehearsed ballet, and he liked her in it.

"Ah, Monsieur Utkin!" M. Fournier greeted warmly. "Your suits have just been delivered and are ready for your inspection. Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, thank you, monsieur," he replied as he took a seat. It was so nice to be accepted, to simply sit and chat with someone, even if it was partly due to the added income he provided to the young couple.

One of the singers from Germany, Liesl, approached Christine after lunch. "I was wondering if I could ask you something. I hope you won't be angered by my question."

"I'll try not to be," Christine offered warily. Liesl was not known for her friendly demeanour. "What did you want to know?"

"I . . . Who is your voice tutor? Would he be willing to take on more students?" she asked slowly.

"Oh, he is . . . an older man who keeps mostly to himself. He is a friend of Mme. Valerius's and . . . I don't know that he would be willing. I could ask him next time I see him if you like, though."

"Would you? You're sure you wouldn't mind? I'd hate to get you in trouble with your teacher."

Christine waved off her worry. "I can simply broach the subject, see if he's open to taking on more besides me. He had such a hard time of it to mold my voice to what it is now that he might be tired of the whole profession," she chuckled briefly.

Liesl smiled back at her. "And he did a wonderful job of it, too! Oh, if he would be willing to help me, even for a few weeks, I would be ever so grateful. But, if he is not, perhaps you could share some of what he taught you?"

"Oh, Liesl, you are a wonderful singer! What is there that I could teach you? Besides, his techniques are . . . a bit strange. I fear I might not pass them along correctly. As I said, I shall ask him later about taking on more students."

"Christine! It's almost time for rehearsal!" little Jammes called from the corridor.

"Coming!" she called back. "If you'll excuse me. I'll let you know what my professor says as soon as I can." Before she could respond, Christine had dashed off to the practice room.

"What an odd girl," Liesl mused aloud.

"Did you ask her?" Jacqueline asked as she sidled up.

"Yes."

"And?" Jacqueline could hardly contain her excitement.

Liesl tilted her head. "She said she'd ask her tutor if he'd take on more students. But she seemed quite reluctant about it."

"Aha! So he really might be her lover as well as professor . . ." Jacqueline's eyes narrowed, wondering who the mysterious, miraculous teacher could be.

Raoul sauntered down the street, pausing to peruse some floral arrangements. He wondered what kind of flowers Mignon might like. Red said passion . . . Yellow petals meant friendship . . . Perhaps a mixture of colours would be wiser . . .

Once he'd settled on the appropriate blooms, he ventured to another shop to choose just the right vase to present them in. 'Something dark to match her hair,' he thought with a smile.

Christine spent a few minutes stretching at the barre before they started work on the next routine. It was a complicated dance, but one she already knew. Still, she was nervous all afternoon. She hoped Erik would be there, just beyond her dressing room, once rehearsals were over.

She hated to admit it, but her dream of Erik with another woman had unsettled her. The dark-haired woman in her dream had been so sophisticated and elegant, far more than Christine felt she could ever be.

Shaking herself from her insecurities, she went behind the screen in her dressing room and changed out of her practice dress and into one of the lovely gowns Erik had given her. White with emerald green trim, this was one of the simpler dresses in her collection. She applied a touch of colour to her lips then sat and waited patiently.

The knock at the door and an insistent voice pleading for entry startled her out of her pleasant mood.

"Mignon?" Christine was confused by her appearance there. They had hardly spoken in all the time Mignon had been with the Opera Garnier, but her clearly agitated state had her worried. "What's wrong?"

"I'm so confused, Christine. I know we haven't talked much, but I need to confide in someone. I'd talk to Sorelli about this, but . . . I'm sorry. You were getting ready to go out, weren't you?" She shook her head and tried to smile. "I'm getting worked up over nothing!"

"No, no, I was in no hurry. Come, sit. Tell me what's troubling you so."

"It's just that . . . I went to supper with Raoul, the vicomte? And I'd heard you had been friends with him when you were children. I just . . ." She twisted the handkerchief she held clutched in her tanned fingers. "What was he like when you knew him?"

"Raoul? He was very sweet as a boy, as I recall. A bit spoiled, of course, as his sisters and aunts doted on him."

Mignon nodded. She shivered suddenly with the odd sensation that she was being watched by someone other than Christine.

From behind the mirror, Erik was dumbstruck. 'She looks just like Anahita did when we first met!'